Her acquaintance with Sigismund had been
long and intimate. Rooted esteem and deep respect lay at the bottom of her
sentiments, which were, however, so lively as to have chased the rose from
her cheek in the endeavor to forget them, and to have led her sensitive
father to apprehend that she was suffering under that premature decay
which had already robbed him of his other children. There was in truth no
serious ground for this apprehension, so natural to one in the place of
the Baron de Willading; for, until thought, and reflection paled her
cheek, a more blooming maiden than Adelheid, or one that united more
perfect health with feminine delicacy, did not dwell among her native
mountains. She had quietly consented to the Italian journey, in the
expectation that it might serve to divert her mind from brooding over what
she had long considered hopeless, and with the natural desire to see lands
so celebrated, but not under any mistaken opinions of her own situation.
The presence of Sigismund, so far as she was concerned, was purely
accidental, although she could not prevent the pleasing idea from
obtruding--an idea so grateful to her womanly affections and maiden
pride--that the young soldier, who was in the service of Austria, and who
had become known to her in one of his frequent visits to his native land,
had gladly seized this favorable occasion to return to his colors.
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